


come to me, clear and cold

by bobina



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ficlet, Gen, post-s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobina/pseuds/bobina
Summary: "The text had been simple: an address, a vague description, and it was, of course, anonymous. Zoe Morgan doesn’t know who or what she’s looking for, isn’t even sure what she’s doing in this bar until she lays eyes on her."





	

The bar is upscale, dim but welcoming. The tables and stools are smooth, dark mahogany, and the lights cast a warm yellow glow throughout the room. It’s quiet, early on a Thursday evening, only a few patrons scattered around. Soft jazz whispers through the speakers ensconced in the corners of the ceiling.

The text had been simple: an address, a vague description, and it was, of course, anonymous. Zoe Morgan doesn’t know who or what she’s looking for, isn’t even sure what she’s doing in this bar until she lays eyes on her.

Sameen Shaw sits at the bar, looking at once out of place and right at home in tight black jeans and a black leather jacket. Her hair is longer than Zoe remembers, the lines on her face deeper. She nurses a bottle of beer while trying to look casual. It’s almost effortless, but Zoe has an eye for body language and she can tell at a glance that Shaw is waiting for someone. Zoe sits down two stools over, catches the bartender’s eye, and orders top-shelf scotch, neat. Shaw stiffens ever-so-slightly and shifts in her seat.

Zoe thanks the bartender as he places her drink in front of her and waits for him to sidle down to a waiting patron at the other end before tipping it to her lips. She takes a moment to savor the flavor, swallowing the mouthful of liquid heat slowly, before tilting her head Shaw’s direction. She’s surprised when she isn’t the first to speak, but then she’s always admired the other woman’s style.

“Zoe.” Shaw doesn’t take her eyes off the bottles lining the wall across from her, just tilts her head back to down the dregs of her beer.

“Shaw.” Zoe swirls the scotch in its glass, listens to the ambient noise of murmuring voices and chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. “Been a long time.” A year, maybe more. Zoe hadn’t pressed for details, had seen the pain on John’s face when he told her that Shaw was missing. He and Harold had cut ties with her soon after that, both insisting she’d be safer if the lines of communication between them were severed.

Zoe studies the other woman, takes in the set of her jaw, the hardness in her eyes. She sees the way Shaw fidgets, fingers picking at the label on the beer bottle, and Zoe knows, with sudden clarity, why they’re meeting here, like this.

“John’s dead.”

It isn’t a question and Shaw doesn’t answer, but her fingers still and her jaw clenches. She blinks slowly, breathing in harshly through her nose, and flags down the bartender with a little wave of her beer bottle. He sets another in front of her without a word. After a moment, Shaw stands, taking one long pull from her beer before laying several bills on the bar.

“See you around, Zoe,” Shaw murmurs, her voice like gravel, as she passes toward the door.

Zoe stares down at her scotch, swirling it again and again without drinking it. It’s a long time before she follows Shaw into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from The Stable Song, by Gregory Alan Isakov.


End file.
